


Awakening

by AniPendragon



Category: RWBY
Genre: Gen, Genderfluid Character, Post Finale, Volume 3 Spoilers, self-indulgent fic, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-17
Updated: 2016-02-17
Packaged: 2018-05-21 05:07:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6039400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AniPendragon/pseuds/AniPendragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was alive. Not whole, not completely himself, not without loss, but he was alive. That was what mattered, at the end of the day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Awakening

**Author's Note:**

> This is pure, self-indulgent fic relating to magic, gender, and Ozpin's fate. It's something I hope you all enjoy a least half as much as I do.

He was awake again. Barely. Briefly. The shifting breeze across his skin and a stickiness at his temple alerted him to his own consciousness. But just as quickly as it appeared, it slipped through his fingers like water. And then he was gone.

Each time he awoke, it was for a little bit longer, a little bit more. But it was never more than a few seconds. Perhaps thirty, at one point. He wished he could wake up. Wished he could figure out what was going on. What had happened to him? The last thing he remembered…

Fire. The vault. Cinder. _Pyrrha_. Was she alive? Or had she died? Her destiny said she would fall. He’d hoped to put that off.

He didn’t think he succeeded.

Time passed, as it was wont to do. He drifted, in and out. The ebb and flow of passing time slid around him. It was his own personal wind. His own personal river. Something only he had ever really felt in a corporeal way.

Finally, after who knew how long, his eyes slid open. And, with a great gasp and a shake of his shoulders, Ozpin rose from his own near death.

Slowly, painfully, terrifyingly, he sat up. Body shivering and shaking from the real breeze that slid across him. It was winter. He didn’t know where he was. Only that he felt… _different_.

Not again. Please no. Let him still be him.

But even as the thought occurred to him, a curtain of hair fell across his shoulder. Black, the front two inches dyed white. Or perhaps it was the other way around. It fell passed his shoulders, halfway to his elbows.

He blinked. Felt lashes brush his cheeks. Looked down at his hands to see they were slender with pointed fingers. Nails. When was the last time he’d had proper nails?

The rest of him was much the same. He stood, stumbling, one hand against the cave wall. And oh, he was in a cave, that was good to know. Thinner legs and arms. Smaller feet. Smaller _everything_. He’d lost a good three inches in the transformation.

Ozpin grimaced and rubbed a hand over his face. Smooth. Pointed. Fuller lips. No stubble. He was off-balance too, no doubt due to the breasts he now had.

_Perfect_.

With a sigh, Ozpin checked his reflection in a nearby pool. He knew what he’d find.

_Ozma._

A woman much younger than him – just on the right side of “maiden” – stared back at him. Her dark hair, long lashes, and brilliant green eyes were a sharp contrast to Ozpin’s typical appearance.

“It’s been a while,” he murmured, and his voice was a high, lilting thing. Sing-song, almost. The moving mouth of his reflection, if he could call it that, seemed alien and strange. He wanted to roll his eyes, an uncharacteristic gesture he hadn’t used in… thirty years? Maybe more.

It had been a long time since he’d been hurt badly enough to become Ozma.

“Well, this is just peachy,” he said. His feminine voice echoed throughout the small cave. He sat down next to the pool of water and ran his spindly fingers through it.

“You’ve really done it now, Oz,” he muttered. He blew some of his hair out of his face. “Hurt badly enough to turn back into Ozma. No idea where you are. And,” he looked around to be sure, “no cane! That takes care of one question at least. They were down in the vault.”

He closed his eyes and put his head in his hands. Grimaced at the softness of them, as opposed to his preferred light callouses.

He knew his words were stumbling. Knew he was acting different. Knew he was panicking. But it was hard not to. If he’d ended up in this cave, as Ozma, that meant his magic had sensed he was about to die and had tossed him here without his consent.

What had happened with Cinder? To Vale? Was anyone still alive?

…Was Pyrrha?

He doubted it. There was a twisting in his gut that made him think that Pyrrha had fallen in battle. A warrior until the end. At least she’d died how she’d lived, then. At least he could say that much.

_Grimm._ What had become of him that death of a child was an acceptable loss in this war against Salem?

Oz took a deep breath and stood. He headed toward the mouth of the cave, which was where the wind was coming from. It was day. Maybe a little after dawn. Snow dusted the ground, the wind was cold, but not cruel. A handful of trees pock-marked the gravel beach before him. Water lapped at the shore.

He stretched, letting his joints crack into place. There weren’t as many as usual. Odd, but not unusual. Not for Ozma.

He was younger like this. More limber. Less world weary. It wasn’t an altogether unpleasant change. It wasn’t as though he was particularly attached to being a man. Never had been, in fact. Perhaps that was why the change to Ozma wasn’t odd for that reason. It only bothered him because he knew there was only one reason he would become Ozma.

But the lack of power – not even half of what he usually possessed – bothered him deeply. It left him feeling vulnerable and lost. The rest was beneath the surface, dedicated to keeping him alive and healing his body while he walked Remnant as…

He looked down at his hands. Seemingly unfamiliar but he’d worn them a dozen times before. It was why he hadn’t been surprised when he awoke. Why he knew what to call himself like this. Ozma was a part of him, even if he no longer felt a part of her. But he’d grow used to this body, these pronouns again, in time. There was no telling how long he’d be like this, it wouldn’t be hard to adapt.

“Of course, no one _else_ knows who you are like this,” he muttered. It was his own short-sightedness, really. He’d never become Ozma in the entire time he’d known anyone in the inner circle. Never had a reason to tell them. Hadn’t really wanted to, in fact. There were many things his friends and companions could handle. The idea that their mysterious leader occasionally turned into a woman didn’t strike him as one of them.

And, there was no way they’d believe him if he were to try and tell them like this, not even if he told them things only Ozpin would know. Their grief would blind them and…

_Oh_. Were they even all still alive? If his cane wasn’t with him, at least one of them was. Cinder couldn’t have taken it. It was probably the only thing he could be completely sure of, at this point.

So one of them had to have taken it. But who? All of them were resilient. All of them were strong. The only way any of them would have died was if James had gone back to Atlas to be tried for his crimes.

“In fact, he probably did,” muttered Ozpin. “Perfect.” _Perfect_.

Self-pitying done, Ozpin drew himself up to his full and unimpressive height. He was Glynda sized now, and he didn’t have the heels to look as intimidating. In fact, he was barefoot, wearing only his green dress pants and his white undershirt. Both of which had, thankfully, shrunk with him. The cold licked at his arms. The fear licked at his mind. He rubbed his face again, nails nicking his hairline. Hair billowing in the breeze.

He needed a plan. Desperately.

Closing his eyes, Ozpin drew upon what was left of his magic. Focused it on Vale. Even if no one recognize him, he could figure out what was going on, figure out how long he’d been gone. Figure out who he could help.

He needed to try something. He couldn’t wait around for his usual body to heel.

He saw Vale in his mind’s eye. Saw Glynda trying to put it back together. Saw Blake leaping through the buildings. Saw the White Fang still in the city but not in the school. Saw the dragon, frozen. _Ruby_.

But there was no time to think about that. No time to worry about what Qrow had told Ruby to keep her from realizing what she truly was. He would have to deal with that later. Have to put his plans back together eventually.

For now, he needed to get to Vale. And now he knew exactly where it was.

“All right, Ozma,” he said to himself. “Let’s see what you can do.” And with that, he lifted into the air, green magic surrounding him, and disappeared, hopefully teleporting to Vale.


End file.
